


kith

by cenotapheta



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Fluff and Smut, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Nipple Play, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trans Male Character, genuinely the nicest ive ever written these two together i think sdfklj, sensory play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:41:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27187412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cenotapheta/pseuds/cenotapheta
Summary: In which Tim provides quite an apt sensory surrogate for Brian.
Relationships: Drumbot Brian/Gunpowder Tim
Comments: 10
Kudos: 65





	kith

**Author's Note:**

> hiiiiiii friends, is me, ya boy anecdoche(so_psychso) had to pull this little acct switcharoo bc some pedos reported me for harassment so my shit's suspended for 60 days lmao. will that stop me providing the good shit? absolutely the fuck not, so this fic serves as both porn And a little hiya from beyond the grave. I aint dead, just got nerfed bc pedos be protecting pedos (this also means gethsemane will not update within this hell window of suspension, but i will post oneshots here in the meantime <3)
> 
> (title from the eponymous song by Hilary Woods, have a listen, it's very lovely)

It’s been almost an hour, now, and Brian still can barely feel a thing, a disappointment he initially put down to Tim employing too delicate a touch, but he’s watched those hands work over his body, the nails carving ragged against metal; taut muscle flexing beneath scarred forearms; the slide of veins over tendons; the splotched scarlet heat that fills Tim’s cheeks the same color as his lips, which have done their fair share, kissing and sucking and nibbling and biting. But there’s only so much you can do to a body that is not, and when Tim singles his efforts to the spot behind Brian’s ear that, once upon a time, would have made him arch like a snapped bowstring but now only sends the vaguest of memories through his sensory processor, he places two firm, unfeeling hands on the gunner’s shoulders, pushes, watches him fall away, and feels nothing of that lovely long hair sliding off his shoulder.

“Still?” Tim asks, with no expectation or exasperation or disappointment, but… Still… 

Brian answers by way of a sigh before drawing Tim close, fingers beneath his chin, and taking yet another kiss he can’t quite reconcile past the vague pressure of a mouth on his.

“I remember what it was like,” he says, letting Tim’s lips rest against his. “And that was… enough, at first, but it’s just been too long, I suppose.”

“We can keep trying,” Tim murmurs.

He’s sat in the pilot’s lap, legs akimbo and no doubt straining to keep balance. Indeed, letting his hands fall atop Tim’s thighs, Brian feels the twitch of muscle, those elusive, shifting subtleties of a body even in a most docile duress. 

It… gives him an idea.

“Tim?”

“Mm?”

“Would you let me–” and here, Brian slides one palm around to the small of Tim’s back, the other venturing between his legs

Tim, predictably, goes ever so prettily boneless, and Brian huffs a small laugh as the man slumps forward.

“Whatever you were about to say, _yes_ , yes you can.”

“ _Tim_.”

The gunner pulls back, all put on sighs and petulance, but Brian catches his frown in a kiss. 

“I was going to ask,” Brian explains into Tim’s slack mouth, “if we could try this another way.”

“...Go on?”

“I, well I supoose that–” suddenly shy, Brian struggles to find the right words. 

But this is Tim, someone with whom he shares a terrible but steadfast camaraderie. Hell, if he were pressed to it, he might even say he feels safe with the man.

“I’d like to have you,” he eventually manages. “To–to show you what I remember enjoying.”

“You want to use me as a surrogate,” Tim summates airily, all drawn out syllables that drag the sentence so much further than those few words, right up to the most indecent edge of implication.

And Brian is helpless to tumble over it, to say anything else but, “Yes.”

Cauterized nerves or not, he’d have to be stone dead not to feel Tim smirk.

“But,” Brian continues, needing desperately to refit his position in this, “You have to detail everything– _exactly_ how it feels.”

Tim initiates the next kiss, a messy thing of decadent tongue and humid moans.

“I’m sure I can manage that,” he says, when he has to come up for air.

“Yeah?” Brian speaks into the soft hollow of Tim’s left temple, scratching lightly at the base of his scalp.

“Mn… definitely.”

Brian laughs, then in one swift motion, hoists Tim from his lap, turns them both halfway around, and a bit over-eagerly deposits Tim on his back. Any grievances the man takes at being tossed about (and when has he earnestly ever) are promptly discarded in favor of dragging Brian back down and licking hungrily into his mouth.

For the moment, Brian allows it—he doesn’t wish to stymie all of Tim’s autonomy—but even when he was human, Brian never favored kissing overmuch. It was nice, certainly, and Tim does have one of the loveliest mouths he’s yet enjoyed, but there are other ways to use someone else’s tongue, and Brian has many fond memories of being that object of affection for several, thorough partners.

So when he thinks Tim’s taken enough, he slips one hand beneath his chin, implying as if to deprive the man from his next breath, but instead, his fingers travel up, curling over his chin, and prying into his mouth.

“Open up for me, love.”

Tim obeys with just the right amount of resistance, and Brian adores Tim all the more for making him work for his prize. He earns it swiftly enough, gagging Tim on three of his fingers, and he pauses to admire the picture he’s made. 

“I know I asked you to tell me how everything feels,” the pilot soothes, waltzing two fingers along the tops of Tim’s molars. “But for this, I just want you to enjoy yourself.”

Tim makes a pathetic little noise in the back of his throat, which Brian accepts graciously for concession, and returns to his task of petting Tim’s tongue, starting as far back along the muscle as he can without causing too serious discomfort. Then gliding back, a distant, velvet slide of rigid digits to tender flesh. He repeats this several times over, marvelling at how easily Tim’s mouth gleams, saliva spilling down the sides of his cheeks, the back of his throat spasming so as not to choke. 

“You can reciprocate, you know,” which is more of a suggestion than an instruction, but of course Tim takes it as the latter, and he swiftly shuts his lips tight around Brian’s fingers, sucking at them, bobbing his head up to emulate, well… perhaps they’ll get to that.

Which recalls Brian to the fact that Tim must be most uncomfortable by now, but the inevitable rush is so much sweeter if staved for the favor of other bodily indulgence, and Brian enjoyed himself several of those before ever chasing the main event. 

“That’s enough, love,” he says, pulling free his fingers and wiping them on Tim’s cheek. The man’s eyes fairly gleam, that bit of wet skin aflush with blood and want and the ruddy pink of obedience. 

“How was that?”

Tim exhales, his throat rattling slightly from its exertions.

“I’d have you in my mouth for millennia,” he says, and Brian well believes him.

“I know you would,” Brian uses his clean hand to brush the hair fallen on Tim’s brow, braces his palm there, gives just the faintest little shove.

“Now lay back fully for me, hands above your–that’s it, there’s a good boy.”

Both parties smile, stupidly fond, as Tim assumes his position, wrists crossed overhead, guaranteed to stay that way sans binding or any other intervention, because he is, he _is_ good, and both of them know it.

“Now, this I’d like you to be very clear on,” explains Brian, methodically undoing the buttons of Tim’s shirt.

“Christ, you were vanilla,” Tim teases, and yet how eagerly he arches when Brian applies the first edge of his thumbnail to Tim’s left nipple, a lovely little rasp of—

“Sh-sharp. It’s sharp, _fuck–_ M-makes me want to scream a bit.”

“Why don’t you?” Brian digs his nail in, rakes it down, and marvels how _sharply_ Tim’s body bows in response. 

It tickles something through his sensory core, a far off recollection of exploratory hands and wicked fingertips. Humming, he applies the same to Tim’s right nipple, working both between thumb and forefinger, pinching and twisting and rubbing, abusing them cherry red and stiffly peaked. 

“Keep that up,” Tim pants, “and I just fucking might.”

“Mm,” Brian leans down, kisses across Tim’s chest, “maybe later.”

“Bastard.”

“Watch that I don’t cut your tongue out, love.”

Another laugh, but this one warily addled, but Brian just rolls his eyes. Tim is terribly too much a masochist sometimes, and unless it’s something Brian’s wanting reenacted, he’ll receive no such thing.

So he says, “That was good. What you said, but now I’d really like you to be descriptive.”

“Christ, it’s like you’re bloody grading me.”

“I’m sure you’ll get full marks.”

“Shut up.”

It’s Brian’s turn to laugh, and then Tim’s responsibility to sigh all over again as the pilot moves downward, doing away with Tim’s belt, and divesting his trousers with perfunctory fanfare. He spares a moment then to admire Tim’s needy state, his cock flushed, the dark curls between his thighs shining slightly with the evidence of his arousal. 

“Spread,” says Brian, and Tim does so, breathing harder.

“It stings, almost,” he says, unprompted in the description, and Brian couldn’t be more pleased for it. “And I–I like it, because it’s so much better when you finally touch me.”

“Is that so? Well, I have no intention of depriving you, love, but I’ll keep that in mind some other time.”

Tim gives a delirious little sigh, his eyes pinched closed, hands turned to fists above his head, and Brian drinks down every micro-expression as he runs his fingers along the shaft of Tim's cock, stroking back the hood and circling lightly the tip with the pad of his middle finger. It’s a bit of improvising, what for Brian’s previous physiology not quite matching Tim’s, but the same basic principle applies, and the string of half coherent adjectives Tim babbles in response more than suffice for sensation.

“ _Sweet–”_

_“Embers–”_

_“Shock–”_

_“Good, good, good._ ”

Brian pulls back when the latter unspools through Tim’s aborted whining, not because it isn’t a perfectly adequate descriptor, but because he likes to be a little mean—knows Tim needs him to be—and because this isn’t how he wants Tim to come.

“You’re doing so well,” he says, as Tim leverages a furious glare, so Brian slips one, brief finger into his cunt and gives a cruel little _curl_. 

“ _F-fuck_ ,” Tim collapses back into the pillows, rolling his hips down helplessly.

Brian allows him to for a moment more, adding two more fingers, but his motives are otherwise, and, once he’s deemed them appropriately slick enough, he pulls them free.

“I’m going to fuck your arse,” he explains cordially as Tim appears to be gearing up for a colorful spat of swears.

“And I want you to try and come like that,” Brian continues, undeterred, “if you can. It’s fine if you can’t, but really try for me, love, okay?”

All the fight goes out of Tim’s face in an instant, replaced with a hungry sort of awe and a wine rich spilling of heat from his nose to his neck.

“Okay,” he says, the permission terribly hoarse, and Brian’s sensory core gives the nicest little flutter at that.

“Good, now,” Brian runs his fingers back between Tim’s folds, ensuring they’re thoroughly slicked up. “Just relax.”

The first finger goes in easy, and tossing his head sideways, Tim bites neatly into his bicep, stifling a desperate little mewl that makes Brian ache somewhere _deep_.

“Yeah?” He prompts, curling his finger inside the tight heat of Tim’s beautiful body. 

It’s like watching a rerun of himself, Tim giving the very same reactions Brian once did when overlarge hands held him down oh so gently and wrenched from him the most scorching, spasming pleasure he’d never known could be made of his body. 

“ _More_ ,” Tim growls, and Brian adds a second, and a third finger in quick succession, his thumb and pinky fanned against the insides of Tim’s thighs, and Brian’s not sure where he wants to look.

At Tim’s face, drawn close in pleasure-almost-pain. At his heaving chest. His twitching cock. His cunt, throbbing and leaking into Brian’s palm.

“It feels so good,” Tim moans, “i-it’s not enough, like you’re pulling some string tight inside me, and it’s fraying, but it can’t snap, but it has to, and–so warm, so _good_ , I–”

Taking only the slightest mercy, Brian bows down and, as he shoves his fingers as deep as they’ll go, blows a quick, cool breath against Tim’s cock.

The man comes utterly undone, a silent, stuttering wail leaving his lips split open in twisted ecstasy, his whole abdomen going stiff, even as his spine does its damnedest to break in half. 

And Brian watches, transfixed, his sensory core running wild on fraught sparks of cherished agonies, which he still feels none of, but watching Tim take what he was once given, and give back what Brian’s body once did, it’s–it’s…

He descends onto Tim’s mouth before he has to reconcile that thought, unable to parse the enormity of it, so he’ll take his answers from whatever Tim has left to give. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Tim answers, which… yeah, that sounds about right.

“You did so well,” Brian commends, cradling Tim’s face with his clean hand. “So beautiful for me.”

“Could’ve… could’ve done better in the description department,” Tim manages between Brian’s lips. 

“It was perfect,” the pilot dismisses. 

“Won’t say no to another go?”

Brian pulls back, searching Tim’s expression for any signs of obligation or resignation. Coming up moot, he raises one skeptical brow. Smirks.

“Well, if you’re offering love…” 

Tim smirks right back.

“Always am.”

And, with perhaps just a little bit of selfish excitement, Brian descends on him once more.


End file.
